The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with the building, for, after two or three steps had been taken, one lighted a match. It was evident to the detective that these visitors were reading the names on the doors as they progressed along the corridor, and he was about to extinguish his lamp and prepare for the worst, when the two men stopped again, struck a match, and, after an instant's hesitation, rapped sharply upon his door. "Come in!" called Philo Gubb, at the same time drawing his bed-sheet over his scantily clad legs. He knotted the sheet behind, like an apron, and arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of them Mr. Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy Gribble, proprietor of the Gold Star Hand Laundry, just across the way on Main Street. The other man was a stranger. Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long, cylindrical parcel enclosed in heavy wrapping paper. The parcel was about six feet long and nearly as large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm, Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three feet square. The trained eye of Detective Gubb noted all this at a glance. Billy Gribble dropped the two parcels on the floor. "Gubby, old sport!" he said in his noisy way, "this is--" "Now, now!" said the stranger irritably. "Now, wait! I said I would talk to him, didn't I? What do you mean by--if you'll please let--you are Detective Gubb, are you not?" he asked. Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall and thin, taller and thinner than Mr. Gubb himself. He was clean-shaven and his face showed deep lines about the mouth and nose. His hair was closely clipped, making his head seem pea-like in its smallness. But Mr. Gubb was not gazing at these things. His bird-like eyes were fastened on the end of the suitcase the stranger still held in his hand. On the end of the case were painted in black the letters "C. M." and the word "Chicago." The stranger glanced down at the suitcase and put it on the floor with a suddenness that brought forth a thumping sound. "Clue!" he said, and he kicked the suitcase. "I presume the honor of this call at this late hour of time," said Philo Gubb, shifting his sheet a little, "is on a matter of business. If it is of a social, society sort, I'll have to ask to be kindly excused whilst I assume my pants." "Business call, business call entirely, Mr. Gubb," said the tall stranger. "Don't put anything on. If--if you feel embarrassed I'll take some off. My name is--is--" "Phineas Burke," said Billy Gribble, in a loud whisper. "Can't you keep still?" asked the stranger crossly. "Don't you think I know my own name? Phineas--that's my name, and I know it as well as you do. Phineas Burns." "Burke, not Burns," whispered Billy Gribble. The stranger turned red with exasperation. "Look here! Don't I know my own name?" he asked angrily. "My name is Phineas Burns."